sat down to the porridge with as little appetite for meat as ever a
young man had.

Meanwhile, my uncle, stooping over the fire, turned the letter over and
over in his hands.

"Do ye ken what's in it?" he asked, suddenly.

"You see for yourself, sir," said I, "that the seal has not been
broken."

"Ay," said he, "but what brought you here?"

"To give the letter," said I.

"No," says he, cunningly, "but ye'll have had some hopes, nae doubt?"

"I confess, sir," said I, "when I was told that I had kinsfolk
well-to-do, I did indeed indulge the hope that they might help me in
my life. But I am no beggar; I look for no favours at your hands, and
I want none that are not freely given. For as poor as I appear, I have
friends of my own that will be blithe to help me."

"Hoot-toot!" said Uncle Ebenezer, "dinnae fly up in the snuff at me.
We'll agree fine yet. And, Davie, my man, if you're done with that bit
parritch, I could just take a sup of it myself. Ay," he continued,
as soon as he had ousted me from the stool and spoon, "they're fine,
halesome food--they're grand food, parritch." He murmured a little grace
to himself and fell to. "Your father was very fond of his meat, I mind;
he was a hearty, if not a great eater; but as for me, I could never